


stolen with one glance

by Nokomis



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Nygma POV, through episode 3x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8416714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: Ed had been clad in Arkham stripes so recently, and now he was right hand man to the most powerful man in town.  Truly Gotham was a place of wonder.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For buildheroes! Set through episode 3x05. Thanks to the lovely Rainpuddle for looking over this.

Ed Nygma’s hand tingled for hours after the press conference.

 

He kept clenching it; opening and closing his fingers around the memory of Oswald’s sweaty, victorious grip around his own. His time at Arkham had left him touch-starved, the clinical part of his brain supplied helpfully, imbuing every brush of skin, every bit of contact with importance. It was understandable, it was inevitable, it was a perfectly average reaction to stimuli, he thought, clenching, unclenching, feeling the pressure of his own fingers against his palm. 

 

But his other half, the wild-eyed hedonist that lived within him, laughed and laughed and laughed, and when he clenched his fist again, brought forth the memory of Miss Kringle’s throat beneath that same hand.

 

Butch had led him roughly away after Oswald’s surprise announcement, after the cameras and smiling public had gone sniffing after new stories, and Ed had been too stunned to care much. Butch was a problem that he was going to have to eliminate, of course, but he’d learned from his previous sloppiness. He was going to treat Butch like a riddle, and he was going to solve him.

 

Returning to the mansion that Oswald’s father had left him -- and wasn’t that a coup; Ed was now homeless and recently freed from incarceration and was living on Oswald’s generosity -- was a blur, and Ed would normally worry that he had… that his darker impulses had overcome him, but tonight was different. Tonight Ed’s mind was racing in a thousand different directions. A fellow could hardly pay attention to a thing like transportation when he was a newly hired Chief of Staff for the Mayor.

 

So recently he’d been clad in Arkham stripes and now he was right hand man to the most powerful man in town. Truly Gotham was a place of wonder.

 

The campaigners who had been decorating the mansion like party favors were absent now that Oswald was victorious; Ed presumed they were celebrating. He hadn’t stayed for the victory party. He’d never been much a one for celebrations, even when the taste was as sweet as this one.

 

Instead, he walked from room to room, trying to solve the riddle that was Oswald Cobblepot. His father’s mansion, and yet Oswald was consumed only by the memory of his mother. 

 

He was still awake, straightening a painting in the foyer -- glancing hopefully at the back of it and pushing it roughly against the wall in disappointment when there was nothing hidden behind it; the mansion was shockingly devoid of hidden mysteries -- when the front door swung open and Oswald limped inside. His cane scraped against the floor, and then nearly knocked a vase off a table as Oswald flung his arms out and said, delightedly, “My dear Ed!”

 

“Oswald,” Ed said with a polite incline of his head. He stood with squared shoulders, the way he’d observed Jim do when the Commissioner entered the room. He was Chief of Staff, now. He would fulfill his duties to Oswald gladly in thanks for his most treasured possession: his certificate of sanity.

 

Oswald laughed and flung his arms around Ed, leaning heavily against him. Ed breathed in deeply the scent of damp wool and champagne, wrapping his arms around Oswald to help balance them both as Oswald tipped and swayed on his unsteady feet. 

 

“We won, my friend,” Oswald said into his ear. 

 

“You won,” Ed corrected. “They chose you. They believe in you.”

 

The words came easily. He wanted to twirl them around, because they’ve done it, they’ve claimed Gotham as their own. But Oswald was already leaning back on his heels, taking his weight as his own again, though he left one arm flung over Ed’s shoulder. 

 

“Tomorrow, we rule,” Oswald said, leading Ed toward the kitchen. “But tonight, we feast.”

 

*

 

“The looks on their faces!” Ed cackled. “Oh, Ozzie, I wish you could have been there to see it. I’ve never felt more alive.”

 

Oswald smiled briefly before falling back into his pensive stare. His mother’s stone head sat on the table in front of them, smiling beatifically at the ceiling. “I’m glad that something good came of this…” His lip snarled up. “Unpleasantness. It does the GCPD good to be reminded of our positions.”

 

“Yes, but…” Ed grabbed Oswald’s hand. “Isn’t there anyone out there whose face you would like to shove in your success? Because I worked with those neanderthals for years, and all they did was ridicule me, and then threw me away without a second thought, and watching them have to swallow their hatred and do as I bid…” He sighed, and squeezed Oswald’s hand tighter. “Glorious.”

 

Oswald seemed to focus fully on Ed for the first time. “Yes. Yes, I know the feeling.” He glanced around the room, as if seeing ghosts, and smiled. “It is worthy of joy, even in these dark times.”

 

Their hands were still joined; Ed noticed that happened a lot, now. He was loathe to part them. They seemed to fit, somehow, in a way that reminded him of Miss Kringle. Oswald’s attention seemed to waver between their clasped hands and the statue head. Ed could only hope that his thoughts weren’t entirely of his mother.

 

Then one of the aides burst into the room, saying jubilantly, “Butch did it! He caught the Red Hood Gang and gave them what was coming to them!”

 

Oswald jumped to his feet, pulling Ed up with him, and pulled him into a brief hug as he said, “I knew Butch could do it!”

 

“Yes,” Ed said quietly, stepping away and clenching his fist at his side. “Of course.”

 

Then Butch arrived, and the press, and the uneasy feeling in Ed’s stomach continued to grow as he watched Oswald raise his and Butch’s hands in the air victoriously, an echo of the position Ed had been in only days ago.

 

It was his duty, as Chief of Staff, to use his expertise to investigate the crime scene with the GCPD. He excused himself, and headed for the warehouse district.

 

*

 

Ed has to admit that Butch is far more… proactive than he had previously considered.

 

He can understand the man’s desire to cement his place at Oswald’s side. Ed has only held the position for a short time and he’s already loathe to contemplate it ending. But his methods… his methods are brash and simplistic, and he’s fumbled his attempts to carry out a scheme. Butch simply had to go, and Ed knew that Oswald was the trusting sort, and he’d have to see the betrayal with his own eyes before he could believe it.

 

Luckily, subterfuge is one of Ed’s favorite games. Constructing a plot is akin to making a riddle, after all -- you’re building up pieces to add up to a punchline.

 

Ed just hadn’t quite envisioned himself getting quite so manhandled by the punchline.

 

He’d blacked out momentarily on the stage, which was worrying, but the first thing he’d heard as the heavy clouds in his head had cleared had been Oswald’s voice, stricken and desperate. He could still feel Oswald’s hands on him, grip easing from terror to relief, even though the memory of Butch’s hands had faded before the bruises had blossomed.

 

Ed had taken a hot shower when they had returned to the mansion, and wrapped himself in the robe he’d found hanging in the bathroom. He knew who it belonged to, and it felt…. Right, somehow, in a way that very few things in Ed’s life did, to wear it.

 

There was a fire going in the parlor to fend off the chill of Gotham nights, and Ed had settled onto the couch there. His plans had all worked spectacularly, and he would bear the marks of their success proudly. 

 

Then--- 

 

Then Oswald had come in.

 

The look on his face, after Ed had confessed that he would do anything for him… It had struck something deep within him. Ed hadn’t thought himself entirely capable of such feeling, not since he’d embraced his other half, but… 

 

Ed had been wrong before.

 

He’d held on tight during that hug, which was hardly their first and yet had felt strange and new. Oswald was jittery and seemed reluctant to let go, which was a sentiment that Ed understood deeply. He’d gripped the back of Oswald’s jacket as tightly as he could. He could almost imagine that he could feel Oswald’s heart beating against his own.

 

And then the hug broke, and Ed was left sitting alone. Oswald had excused himself, citing exhaustion -- a mayor’s duties were endless, as were those of the self-proclaimed king of Gotham, and morning would come quickly -- and hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even glanced back at Ed as he awkwardly hurried from the room.

 

That was that, then. Ed picked up the cup of tea and stared into it, trying to reconcile the care that lead Oswald to make it for him with the haste with which he’d left. He took a sip, but all he tasted was bitterness.

 

Ed had always struggled with reading people; he’d been told that his entire life. But he felt, deep in his gut, that he hadn’t misread Oswald. He’d always understood him easily.

 

He walked upstairs slowly, and paused outside Oswald’s door. He raised his fist, thinking he could knock and---

 

For once, a relevant riddle didn’t spring to mind. He’d already told Oswald the most important one. He let his fist rest gently against the door, and leaned his head against it. Faintly, through the wood, he could hear Oswald’s voice, raised enough that Ed could almost make out his own name.

 

He smiled, but didn’t knock. He had read Oswald right after all. Now, he just had to have patience, and let Oswald come to his own inevitable conclusion.

 

Though if he didn’t soon, Ed might have to do something to hasten the inevitable.


End file.
